The Midnight Hour
by TheRockNRollBeauty
Summary: "He's immortal, and he's got a hundred year clock to find him. To find him before he's spirited away and dumped into another dimensional wasteland. And it begins to feel hopeless." Multiverse AU, dimension traveler!Alfred. RusAme.


**So I posted this on livejournal and tumblr, so I thought I should post it here as well...seeing as people liked it for some reason.**

**I apologize if this is really weird, I kind of wrote it at like 3 in the morning...it seems like a lot of people are doing really epic AUs and I wanted to try it out. :) **

**This one involves alternate dimensions and histories, time traveling, experimental weirdness, character death, angst, and even some fluff and romance.**

**Blame this song: http:/ /www. /watch?v=zV Dkiq6c49s It's been my depressing RusAme muse since forever. **

**Enjoy!**

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><p>Alfred was smart, smarter than anyone had ever pegged him to be. He'd hidden it because it was misery to be smart, especially being as smart as he was.<p>

His IQ was easily above the genius threshold. Unfortunately. People never take kindly to geniuses. Sure, they respect the hell out of people who are intelligent, or witty, or clever. But to be on Alfred's level of intelligence was hell. He couldn't connect with anyone, as they all seemed too _slow_ and _stupid_ for a brain that ran a mile a minute. So he'd at least tried to keep his smarts and his distaste behind a beaming smile.

Only one person was ever privy to both Alfred's intelligence _and_ his smile. Only one person did he trust enough to show off what he really was.

So when that person tells him what the doctors tell him Alfred _knows_ that there has to be something that he can do, because _hell_ Alfred could get a medical degree standing on his head (and probably would've, but he's poor as shit and schools are expensive embellishments that he doesn't need.)

Alfred thinks and thinks while the man in the hospital bed shakes and withers and grows paler and paler with each of Alfred's promises until eventually he's translucent and Alfred can see the veins underneath his skin and can see the blood and when it _stops._

And even after a funeral cheapened by dullard "normals" with faint words of pain and remembrance Alfred had tried because if he'd learned anything from life it was that _nothing_ was impossible; it hadn't been impossible for him to find someone who loved and cherished him__—___though it was impossible, inconceivable for that person to be taken away___—__

And Alfred's had tried and tried but his intellect had withered up and died because now he no longer had anybody to bounce ideas of off, no personal peanut gallery who hugged him and kissed him instead of booing and hissing at his failures.

And in a few months Alfred tears through his desk and throws away all the papers about EVP and metaphysics and philosophy and multiverses: tosses books by H.G Wells and Richard Feynman and even a hard copies of the _Rig Veda_ and _Bardo Thodol_ into the trash and tears through his blotted notes and finally wails aloud, sinking to his knees and crying because _damn it all he's just not fucking smart _enough.

One night when he sits curled up in the _too big_ apartment hazed in alcohol and painkillers and sobbing and scratching holes into his arms he _sees_ something though, something gold peeks out from his ceiling and he uncovers his eyes and looks and there's something _there_ that whispers to him and plants an ethereal finger to his chest.

It's a visit from the angel or the devil or whoever is that savior with shocks of wheat blonde hair and fire-green eyes and he's been offered _something_, a contract, a duty, a chance to go try again and maybe__—__

Alfred listens in a half-dazed hallucinatory state and the moment the angel-devil mentions _him_ he agrees with a desperate scream and the being smiles at him and something white hot blooms in his chest before the creature disappears and Alfred is left wondering.

He doesn't believe it at first and chalks it up to a bizarre dream as he nestles back to sleep, but when he wakes up the next morning in a small unrecognizable field of long grasses it's undeniable that _something_ has happened.

Then angel-devil-demon-God appears to him again and tells him that he has a chance to find _him_, because this is a new world, and _he_ will be in a different form but it will still be him__—__

_Him._

_Him, Ivan. _

_It's like the Multiverse theories he'd read millions and millions of times until his eyes bled, but he'd never thought it could be like this, that it was possible and conceivable and could lead him to__—___

So Alfred explores and eventually learns the world he's thrust into is radically different from the one he grew up in. He gradually theorizes that the layers of the multiverses depend on alternate timelines, existing simultaneous with each other. And if he could trust what the angel-devil said, that would mean that there are hundreds of Ivans existing out there, each living out a new and different life__—__

He learns so much in this new universe. He learns the new history as he travels. He learns that America lost the war of Independence centuries ago. He learns that only recently had the country been officially granted severance from Britain.

He finds new things about himself too, side-effects of his deal with the demon-angel-fairy-thing.

He finds that he can't be killed. When he's stabbed in Richmond in his thirtieth year and left to die he realizes that he stays conscious no matter how much he bleeds out. When he's hit by a bus in Santa Fe ten years later, it's much the same. When he's shot stealing a car in Detroit fifty years into this universe, he learns how to dig a bullet out of one's chest.

Alfred also finds out that he's aging at a sluggish pace. In half a century he barely looks a few months older than he had back in his old universe.

He looks up at the skies under the waving British banners and knows that Ivan is out there somewhere, he just has to _find_ him__—__

And after one hundred years Alfred closes his eyes and wakes up again only to find a universe ravaged by a Third World War.

It was gift at the time but now he realizes that it's a curse and many a time he's found himself shrieking at the air _at that fucking angel_ under a destroyed New York skyline because it's not what he wanted, not what he needed and he's never ever ever found him and it's impossible, _impossible. _

He's immortal, and he's got a hundred year clock to find _him_. To find him before he's spirited away and dumped into another dimensional wasteland. And it begins to feel hopeless.

Alfred loses track of how many universes he's visited, how many centuries and cycles that he's lived through. How many times that he's closed his eyes on that last night of the last year and woken up in some form of foreign world with an alternate history and he is _lost_ again.

He lives the life of a vagrant in each of the worlds he visits, doing odd jobs to keep himself eating, sleeping in hot wired cars that he drives across the contiguous United States in constant search, trying to access databases of names whenever he comes across a universe with the gift of computers, keeping his eyes out for scarves and tufts of white-gold hair when he walks along city avenues.

He begins to think that the angel-devil lied to him when in one universe he finds his brother as a stranger on the street, recognizing him when a women standing in line with the two at a hot dog cart points out their striking similarities. They both laugh, some jokes are made about being "long-lost twins" and then the two pay for their food and go on their own ways. Something pushes Alfred to go after him, some urge to connect, but he stays himself and instead watches as that amber bob of hair disappears into the crowd.

Alfred figures that it would be easy to give up, to go mad, to spend the endless days of his life in solitude and despair. But he can't, because the image of Ivan in his mind is slowly fading, and he _needs_ to find him, to see him again soon.

So in a Red-mapped Northern America sometime after the failure of the capitalism and the United States in the 1990s he trudges through a port city in Southern California whose original name has been forgotten and even gung-ho American Alfred from the "real" world can't remember what it is.

He's chewing on a chocolate popsicle in the shape of a whale as he leans up against a street post downtown and thinks that this city is pretty nice, and that he'll stay here for a little bit before he traverses up the coast to what once was Oregon for the hundredth time.

And then out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse, a fateful glimpse of something_someone_ pale and unnaturally tall and a world _a world many many worlds_ apart from the suntanned shirtless Californian Reds.

He drops the ice cream because _it can't be, _it can't_, _Alfred almost doesn't trust himself because it's been years and years and years and years since Alfred has seen him last, his image recently subject to decay in his head__—__

By chance he turns a little and Alfred knows absolutely without a doubt and he almost has a heart attack right then and there. Hyperbole aside, he wants to break down and sob in relief, at the very least.

But Alfred pulls himself together because he has to, he _can't_ let him go, so he races after Ivan and "accidentally" runs into the man from behind. Alfred laughs and sheepishly apologizes even though his heart is racing and pounding under his layers of clothing.

And thank God Ivan had been carrying coffee at the time because it spills over his shirt and he turns and gives Alfred a glare but it's okay because now Alfred has an excuse__—__

So he, in his overbearing way, offers to make up for it by buying Ivan a new cup of coffee, and the taller man perhaps reluctantly complies.

But the two spend hours in the cafe, Ivan quietly listening and chuckling as Alfred goes on, and he finds that it is so _easy_ to fall back into this familiarity, and they fit, they just fit, and _God_, how he's missed this so so much__—__

Moment of truth when Ivan finally says he has to go and _yes_ he asks Alfred for his number and the boy can barely contain his relief and utter joy but yes, he scrawls his name down on a piece of torn off napkin and hands it to Ivan, his face aglow with happiness.

He nearly bursts with joy when Ivan calls him the next day and asks if they can get together.

Get togethers quickly become dates and outings and just spending time with one another and before long Ivan puts his hands on Alfred's trembling waist and smiles that perfect half-smile and whispers those three precious words and Alfred wants to cry from happiness so he does, burying his face into Ivan's chest and sobbing and Ivan tenses because he thinks that he's done something wrong but Alfred tells him no_, no_ _I'm crying because I'm happy___—__

And now that it's finally happened, it's everything that Alfred had been dreaming and hoping for all these countless years.

It's walking through downtown at night as the land breeze picks at their hair and clothing when Ivan winds their hands together and puts them both into his pocket to keep Alfred warm.

It's waking up his sleeping boyfriend at his apartment with a knock on the door and a cup of coffee in hand and a pair of pastries that they nibble on between kisses.

It's Ivan finding out that he's been living in his car and offering up that small apartment to share.

It's nights when Ivan pulls his head close as they sit on the beach and tells him that _maybe they should go back to the apartment_ and Alfred knows what Ivan implies-

It's their first time but it's not but Alfred finds it just as wonderful as he tells Ivan he's a virgin and the older man treats him such, with kindness and tenderness and reverence at the thought of being the first and _only_. And Alfred feels no problem with letting him believe it, because it's true, because there really was _never_ anyone else other than Ivan. Alfred completely releases himself and moans and wails and pants and cries out Ivan's name because it's been _so long._

It's hard, sometimes to pretend that he hasn't had more than one lifetime: sometimes he'll make comments and observations that make Ivan cock his head in confusion and Alfred has to scrabble to find an excuse and remind himself that it's _this_ world now that's important.

The television and the papers rail against the injustices of the oppressive Red State and even though Alfred can think of a million ways to fix them he doesn't care, he's wrapped up in Ivan and everything about them, everything about the life that they're slowly creating for themselves. The life that had been cruelly taken away all those many centuries ago.

He's only got ten years left in the cycle at this point but they prove to be the happiest that he's ever had, even happier than before Ivan had died. They eventually sell the apartment downtown and buy a quaint little beach house further north and Alfred convinces Ivan to try to get a tan on that ghostly pale skin. And Ivan gets a job at a local business firm and Alfred finds himself taking care of their little abode and he's fine with that because it's normalcy, it's not living off a handful of dollars a day and getting shot trying to steal cars__—__

To be anchored down to something is so _sweet_ and so beautiful, because he's had his fill of freedom. He realizes one day that he might almost be afraid of it.

So Alfred cries his eyes out when Ivan is mugged on the street and taken to the emergency room because that old terror rises up again and he doesn't want to lose Ivan _his rock_ before the time is up. He sits with Ivan in the hospital and holds his hand until he wakes up and Alfred lets out sobs of relief and runs his hands relentlessly through his boyfriend's hair.

_Don't ever do that to me again._

_Sweetheart, why are you so scared?_

_Just promise me, kay?_

_All right. I promise. I love you._

_Oh God, I love you too. _

Alfred worries sometimes that Ivan finds him too clingy and overbearing (though if he knew why, he wouldn't blame him) and Alfred sometimes frets that Ivan will find it too much and then he will leave. And every time they have a fight or even a small disagreement Alfred is terrified and cries into his hands and he runs out of the apartment to find Ivan outside where he always goes after they argue and he throws himself into his boyfriend's arms and cries some more and begs Ivan not to leave him because he'll make things up to him__—__

And he always does, he lavishes Ivan with everything he wants just as Ivan always pampers Alfred with love and attention.

Despite the rocky patches the waning years are happy and beautiful and Alfred has never in his long long life felt so safe and warm and comfortable and loved.

But there's something that hovers over him while he's lying in bed with Ivan, trailing behind him and his boyfriend in their twined shadows, the memory of the wheat haired angel-devil and his promises and his _rules_.

One hundred years. And then__—__

_The last night the last night that last night._

It hangs heavy like a chain around his neck that pulls him down from the zenith of complete happiness, the thought that it can't last forever that it won't last forever, and if the curse is still in place _and there's been no sign that it's not_ then one morning he'll wake up spirited away from Ivan's arms.

The thought tags along in the back of Alfred's mind as he feels himself grow older with Ivan as he gets closer and closer to restart and it's persistent but it doesn't keep Alfred from enjoying ice cream on the beach or nights snuggled up in sheets next to the love of his lives.

It only really comes up when Ivan talks about planning for the future, saving up money for trips across the State and even around the world, even bringing up the topic of _kids_ which Alfred shoots down almost immediately__—__

He circles the date in red on their sunflower-decorated calendar and Ivan slides his arms around his waist from behind and places his head on Alfred's shoulder and asks him "why" and Alfred quickly thinks of something.

He tells Ivan he wants to go out on that night.

So the last night Ivan plans a special dinner at Alfred's favorite restaurant, and Alfred jokes and Ivan smiles and when the older man says that they don't have to order dessert Alfred insists, and they share the biggest, most decadent chocolate cake that either of them has ever seen. Alfred insists that he pays but before he can hint to Ivan that they should go back to the apartment the older man takes his hand and suggests that they walk on the beach, and Ivan has such a calm and peaceful and sated look on his face that Alfred cannot refuse.

It's misty twilight on the beach, the sun glowing red on the horizon as they walk hand in hand, Alfred smiling and inhaling in the smell of the salt spray and Ivan's lingering cologne.

It seems like Ivan is leading Alfred somewhere, the way he purposefully strides towards a small outcropping of rounded rocks amidst the white sand.

He stops them and turns to Alfred and tells him to _wait here_ with a quaint little smile.

There's a little basket tucked behind one of the eroded rocks that Ivan pulls out, tugging a thick blanket out of it and draping it over the sand. Alfred's face heats up at the sweetness of the gesture when Ivan smiles and gestures invitingly to the blanket.

_You didn't have to._

_I know._

Ivan uncorks a bottle from the basket as Alfred sits cross-legged next to him, his heart clenching painfully in his trembling chest. Ivan pulls two delicate champagne glasses out of the basket and sets one in Alfred's dainty hand, pouring them both a glass of the crystal wine.

The moon is a big open constant eye above them surrounded by a net of sparkles and they are beautiful and shine in Alfred's glasses and Ivan's eyes and the rims of the champagne glasses as he toasts them and their relationship and their happiness.

They touch shoulders softly as the sip at the glasses, Ivan's hand gently stroking his lover's thigh. The beach is quiet and solitary, Alfred and Ivan the only ones there _like the only ones in the universe_.

"Alfred," Ivan asks, breaking the quiet, "Stand up, for a moment, please?"

"Why?"

Ivan gives a secretive smile, patting Alfred's leg.

"Do it, please?"

Alfred is puzzled put complies and stands and Ivan rises a little with him, bending on one knee.

The younger man's breath stops in his throat when Ivan pulls from the basket a tiny, velvet box.

_Alfred F. Jones._

His eyes start to burn.

_Will you__—___

Ivan opens the little box, his eyes affectionate and never leaving Alfred's and there's a perfect white gold band _that must've set Ivan back_ but Alfred can't think about little things like that because Ivan finishes his sentence.

___—__Marry me?_

And Alfred just _stares_, because he hadn't been expecting it, and even though his heart is breaking he's also overwhelmed with the look in Ivan's eyes, the little hope blossoming in his face, small loving smile on his lips.

Alfred can't refuse, doesn't want to, so he says _yes_ with an elated sob and Ivan's eyes light up as he slips the ring onto Alfred's finger and rises and takes both of his hands and their lips meet in a kiss that is soft and unhurried and the pain in Alfred's chest is both beautiful and broken.

When they finally make it back to the house a little buzzed by a combination of newfound excitement and the beach champagne Alfred makes Ivan sit on the bed and straddles him and they kiss deeply and passionately and Alfred runs his hands over Ivan's arms and shoulders and feels the life running through his body and he never ever wants to let go. And he cries Ivan's name as the love of his life shifts deep inside him and Alfred wraps his arms and legs around his fiance wanting to become completely one with him and they hold each other as close as they can and Alfred's wills the moment to last forever. The last night they spend the entire time in each other's arms, Alfred cuddled up against Ivan's chest, feeling the movement of the older man's lungs and the beating of his heart and all he knows is that he wants to feel this _forever_.

Alfred closes his eyes, and instead of screaming and cursing shrieking to the angel-devil-God-fairy-whoever he _prays_, he prays with all his might and with everything he is that tomorrow he will wake up in Ivan's arms and everything will be the same as it is in the morning.

He holds Ivan tightly and prays that his curse will finally be broken.

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><p><strong>Rig Veda: A sacred Hindu text that deals with some of the spiritual issues of reincarnation. <strong>

**Bardo Thodol: otherwise known as the "Tibetan Book of the Dead," which deals with the idea of the afterlife.**

**H.G. Wells: A science fiction author, known for his book "The Time Machine."**

**Richard Feynman: An American physicist known for working on the atomic bomb, as well as developing the theory of alternate histories.**

**The city that Alfred and Ivan are in is based on my hometown, San Diego.**

**I hope you guys liked it, despite it's weirdness. :) Read&review, please!**


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